


Wayward Children of Gallifrey

by idelthoughts



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Mary Poppins (1964)
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen, Time War, the Master - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary turned to the Doctor with a tilt of her head and drew a breath, but he lifted his umbrella in warning.  “If you start singing,” he said, “I shall poke you in the eye.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward Children of Gallifrey

**Author's Note:**

> This is cracktastic, and yet sort of dark. Mary Poppins, The Doctor, a rooftop, and the eve of the Master’s execution. Just another day in the life. This struck me when I was toddling through the yuletide 2011 requests spreadsheet - not exactly what anyone was looking for, but inspired by the Mary-is-a-Time-Lady suggestions.

The wind blew in curling patterns, spiraling in eddies around the dark rooftops over London. A woman soared high above, umbrella and carpet bag in hand, until an inkling itched at the very back of her mind. With a flick of a heel and the twitch of an elbow, she floated on a breeze to land, feather-soft, on a flat roof next to three chimney stacks.

A man waited there for her, leaning with casual grace against the side of his blue box, and she frowned at the unexpected intrusion. 

“Mary Poppins. Why, if I hadn’t seen it for myself, I’d have never believed it.”

Mary set her carpet bag down and closed her umbrella, ignoring the indignant squawk of the handle bird. “Doctor. To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

“Distance makes the heart go yonder, my dear.” His latest regeneration, short, dark curly hair and mischievous eyes, had a faint lilt to his words that was the finest edge between amusement and sarcasm. He fiddled with the catch to his umbrella and it popped up with a soft noise, and he gazed up at the dark canopy. “I keep meaning to retrofit this with your modification, but there never seems to be enough time.”

Mary smoothed her heavy coat. “Stealing ideas is sheer laziness. Indicative of an inadequately inventive mind.”

“But the highest form of flattery.” He hopped onto the edge onto the tarred flat of the roof and looked down at the street below. Carriages clattered by, people passing, absorbed in the comings and goings of their daily lives. “Look at them. Burdened with cares, yet not a care in the world.” He leaned back and closed the umbrella, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Full of nonsense as always, I see.”

“There’s still sense in nonsense.” Mary turned to the Doctor with a tilt of her head and drew a breath, but he lifted his umbrella in warning. “If you start singing," he said, "I shall poke you in the eye.”

Mary closed her mouth and pressed her red lips together in a prim line. “And what brings you here, pray tell?”

The Doctor looked away from her, instead watching the smoke curling over London, dark against the fiery strip of clouds glowing with the last rays of the setting sun. “They’re calling us home. Cubes, messages being sent out by the boatload.” He tilted his head back to watch two pigeons wheel overhead, then settle on the smoke stacks next to them. “One might call them marching orders.”

“Marching where?”

“You’d know, if you hadn’t had your head buried in the sand here.”

“You’re one to talk! Larking about on Earth like it’s your personal playground!” She marched over to him and tugged at the lapels of his coat, fairly pulling him upright. “And will you please stop slouching about! Is it so very hard to keep yourself in order? You look like a clown, all this—this floppiness and silly colour.” She tugged at his vest again and took a step back, giving him a critical eye and frowning. 

“You’re off by one regeneration,” he said, wriggling in his jacket until it sat properly on his shoulders again. The small noise of irritation Mary made was as much a reward as the comfort.

“You’re insufferable.” Mary spun on her heel and walked away from him. Her own TARDIS, still in its preferred carpet bag form, was singing to the Doctor’s ship. The hum of their psychic field was palpable, and her stony features softened with maternal warmth as the two communed, happy to be with their own kind. She patted one blue corner, stroking it softly. “Is he treating you well, dear?”

There Doctor was at her elbow. “Always. She takes good care of me.”

She sighed. “Still travelling with humans?”

“Oh, now and again. Had a lovely young girl with me. Sweet thing, though a bit—er, explosive.”

“Mm. I suppose someone has to keep you in order. Though how a human could manage that miracle, I can’t begin to fathom.” She stroked the wood again, and stooped to pick up her bag. “I don’t know how you do it. Dragging them around with you on your fool’s errands.”

“You’re one to talk. Nanny, really?”

“Children are completely different. They’re nothing but hope and potential.” She unfastened her bag and began to root through it.

“They all are, to the very last. Just like that man of yours. You know, the one with the broom.”

Mary paused, one arm in the carpet bag up to her armpit. “Bert?”

“Yes, Bert! That’s it.” He winked at her. “Hope and potential written all over that chap.”

Mary was at a rare loss for words, and her cheeks coloured. “Completely different.”

“Ah, I see.” 

Mary pulled her arm from her bag and produced a glowing cube. “I got the high council’s message.” She rubbed a thumb across the smooth surface. “Are they really going to turn him over?”

“So it would seem.”

She tucked the cube back in the bag. “I never thought I’d see the day when a Time Lord was willingly given to the Daleks.” She eyed the Doctor. “Even one such as the Master.”

The Doctor shrugged. “All part of the Treaty.”

“And the recall?”

“In the event that things don’t go well, I’d wager. TARDISes at the ready, or some such military nonsense.” There was no question that the Daleks were the masters of deceit, and this demand could as easily be a ploy as any of their moves in the past. But the Time Lords were desperate to keep their tentative peace, even if that meant forfeiting one of their own, be he a troubled son or no. “Though I think they’re as happy to be rid of him as the Daleks are to execute him.” He suddenly looked grey and old without having twitched a muscle. 

“He’s not the man we knew as children,” Mary said. Her stern voice softened, and she clasped the Doctor’s hand, patting it gently. “We reap what we sow, and his has been a long season of death.”

“Hm. Yes.” The Doctor squeezed her hand in thanks and drew a cleansing breath. “But the fact remains, I’m headed home.” 

Mary arched an eyebrow. “Do try not to burn the place down. I’d like to see it again, and in one piece, preferably.” She paused, blinking. “Someday. But perhaps not yet. I think you shall manage fine without me.” She stepped forward quickly and kissed him on the cheek. “You will be fine.”

“All is well, in Time.” The Doctor tipped his hat to her with a small smile. “When I saw your Vortex signature, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to make your lovely acquaintance once again.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Until we meet again, Mary Poppins.”

She accepted his farewell with the regal grace of royalty and a short curtsey. She watched the Doctor retreat to his TARDIS, and stayed long enough to watch it grind its way into another dimension. She winced at the horrendous noise, and wondered again how the man had possibly been allowed anywhere near a vehicle. She patted her carpet-bag TARDIS protectively. 

“Well then, sky’s the limit,” she said to the handle of her umbrella, and popped it up, TARDIS clasped in hand at her side. “Spit spot, let’s go.”

“Aye aye, Mary Poppins. Up, up and away!” squawked the curved parrot handle.

A gust of wind whirled around her, and she lifted off the rooftop, in search of just one more adventure.


End file.
